


Some Never Awaken

by thestrangehistorian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is on a Quest to put his super messy family back together, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Brotherhood, FACE Family, Fae & Fairies, Family Drama, Kidnapping, Magic-Users, Missing Persons, Multi, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangehistorian/pseuds/thestrangehistorian
Summary: Take a ghost, a bakery-cafe that may be a cover for something stranger, a spirit fox with old-fashioned ideas about honor, two missing persons' cases, and one seventeen year old Alfred Jones trying to make sense of it all before it's too late to save his fractured family.Known on my Tumblr as "the mythology au!"





	1. Two Years Earlier

_Prologue_

By the time that Joao called and told him that he’d come to a decision regarding the status of their relationship, Arthur’s life had already spiraled out of control. His boyfriend breaking up with him was just the last push he needed to hit rock bottom.

They were about the same age, but Joao had decided to return to Portugal to pursue his studies, instead of sticking it out in London. He wasn’t sure he could make time for Arthur after going home and didn’t want to maintain a long-distance relationship. It would probably be better for both of them to move on, he said.

Arthur couldn’t even be upset at the news. He’d had a bad feeling that something horrible was about to happen to him for months and now, this week. First, he lost his job at a second-rate financial management corporation because the executives preferred dumb, chirpy, barely-legal girls to be their secretaries. Of course, this was the week his rent was due. And to make matters worse, his slob of a flatmate had gotten back together with his girlfriend, so there were sure to be used condoms on the bathroom floor and days worth of dirty dishes piling up in the sink.

And now, it had started to rain.

Not just the faint but persistent drizzle that was typical of spring in London, but a torrent.

Arthur’s umbrella was propped up against the side of his bed at home, and he was soaked in seconds. The streets emptied not moments later as the distinctive sound of thunder rumbled overhead. With no desire to catch pneumonia and few options left, he ran for cover and ducked into the bakery.

Only after Arthur had finished gasping for breath in the doorway did he realize which bakery it was. La Pâtisserie du Roi - talk of the town, of course. Only a few weeks old, but it had received glowing reviews on all accounts. Inside, it was warm and cozy, elegant and clean, painted walls with lots of delicate swirls like icing and staffed by a number of bright, attractive young things. The shining golden atmosphere clashed violently with everything going on inside of Arthur’s head. 

To make matters worse, Arthur thought, eyeing the loopy cursive writing on the menus, everything was in French. Absolutely ghastly. He’d struggled in vain through French in school, half-hoping to get a career in European politics as an adult - but that was how he’d met Joao, and the hapless, humiliating struggle of French lessons combined sting of the breakup only made Arthur want to dissolve. But he supposed that a cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt before he ventured out. The rain didn’t appear to be letting up any time soon. And maybe one of those pastries as well, he thought, eyeing the glass containers as he approached the counter. 

“Excuse me,” he said, gesturing vaguely. A girl blinked slowly at him, and Arthur wondered if he was supposed to speak French in this place after all. “Just a regular cup of coffee and er, one of those chocolate things, please.”

The girl gave him an amused look, but procured the indicated pastry. It was presented to him on a white-and-gold plate, and seemed to be fresh, warming his palm even through the porcelain. Arthur came up nearly two pounds short and started digging for change. But the girl behind the counter merely smiled and waved him off. 

Arthur slinked into the far corner of the shop and sat, hunched over his now thoroughly unappetizing pastry. He risked a glance at the counter and saw the girl leaning into the back - towards a place that seemed to be the source of the delicious scent of fresh bread and warm cocoa - still beaming as she spoke. Great. Telling all her friends about the poor, pathetic English chap who couldn’t even pay full price for pastries. Well, now at least he had an excuse to never return here.

He spotted a rack of newspapers and magazines, and gratefully seized one. Arthur wasn’t really interested in the news - all of the newspapers were outdated, of course, probably chosen more for the look rather than the relevance of their respective headlines - but at least the paper shielded his face. 

On the bright side, it looked as though nobody else had noticed him at all. Arthur wasn’t sure if that made him feel worse or not. The muted chatter of satisfied customers - old couples, young couples, children with their parents - nearly drowned out the pounding of the rain outside, an almost musical arrangement accompanied by the tingling of the bell as people moved in and out and good God, it was so perfect that Arthur felt like he ought to just run for his life right now. He was messy and brow-beaten and did not belong in this beautiful place. 

He was debating whether or not he should just abandon the pastry, accept that today was a lost cause and head home. Or, better yet, head out for a stiff drink. The rain was coming down hard by the sound of it. He’d give it a few more minutes at the most. The cafe’s windows were just out of Arthur’s line of sight, blocked by a decorative display. He craned his neck to try and get a look, almost missing the delivery of his coffee.

“For you, _monsiuer_.”

The gratuitous French drew his ire, as did the soft and almost flirtatious tone. Arthur flipped down his newspaper and opened his mouth to say, “Thank you,” in the most ungrateful and hostile voice that he could manage.

Instead, he wound up struck dumb.

The man set the saucer and pots of cream and sugar before him, smiling in a way that was all warmth and invitation. He had the most handsome face that Arthur had ever seen in real life, or maybe that was just the heartbreak talking. That, or he had become delirious from worry. The Frenchman had shoulder-length hair tied at the nape of his neck - an extremely good look, though Arthur never been one to go for blondes. Even the hint of stubble on his jawline - normally, Arthur preferred a clean shave - couldn’t deter his heart from leaping into his throat at the sight of him. 

He straightened up, and Arthur closed his mouth at last.

“Er, thanks. I could’ve gone to pick it up myself, though.”

The man stayed where he was.

“I’m sure,” he said, in a smooth, rich voice. “But I couldn’t help but notice you when you walked in and…”

Immediately, Arthur’s mind leapt into overdrive. It was too much to hope that this beautiful of a man might be attracted to Arthur. Arthur had long since given up styling his hair and his eyebrows were too thick to be contained, even during the period when he’d been determined to pluck them into normal shapes. And that was just the issues that he had with his face, nevermind with the rest of his body. Where to begin? Awkward limbs, hesitant fingers, not much muscle definition, far too pale and freckled all over. No. There was no way.

“You seemed… how shall I say?” Arthur swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Gloomy, I think,” was what the man decided on. “And my employee says that you were short-changed, yes? I just want to make sure that you are feeling well.”

Oh. Arthur flushed, and all the warm, blossomy feelings evaporated in moments. 

“Fine,” he said curtly. “Just wonderful. Thanks for asking.”

He flipped up the paper, hoping that the cue was enough. But the man didn’t move.

“You are not eating, _monsieur_? Would you prefer something else?”

Arthur picked up his fork, took a bite from the chocolate pastry. It was so delicious that he had to physically restrain himself from reacting with any semblance of surprise or delight. He swallowed quickly and flipped up the paper a second time.

“Hmmm,” said the Frenchman. “Well, I suppose you must take your time and enjoy it. The next one will be my treat.”

“I don’t need charity.”

“Not charity. Just a gift from me to you.”

Arthur made the mistake of looking up. The Frenchman winked at him and Arthur nearly lost his cool entirely. 

“You must try another, I insist. I bake all of these myself, you know. I would love to have your feedback if I had the chance, Monsieur…” 

“Arthur,” he replied, quiet but prompt.

“Francis,” came the warm, intimate reply. “Please, enjoy. Take your time. I will be here all day.”

He pressed his lips together, scowling as the man walked away.

Stupid, pretty French bastard. 

Arthur told himself that he was not nearly naive enough to fall for that. He was a grown man, and not one given to flights of fancy and that Francis fellow was laying it on thick anyways. Probably some sex-starved lunatic pervert. Picking on Arthur because… well, he was already in a pathetic-enough state as it was. But he still had his good sense, thank god.

His stomach rumbled. 

Arthur sighed, dropped a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and stirred. 

As he started to eat, he noticed that Francis was still behind the glass case out front, speaking to a middle-aged woman with unnaturally dyed hair. Every so often, his eyes would flicker up, land directly on Arthur’s face, and a little hint of a smile would cross his lips.

Heat rushed through Arthur, who decided that he hated Francis.

Some time later, the coffee cup was empty, the pastry reduced to crumbs, and the rain still had not let up. The bakery was far less crowded, and Arthur weighed his choices once more. Pneumonia or the… challenge… at the counter of this not-totally-horrible bakery. 

He went up for a second pastry, and found Francis waiting for him with a smile.

Arthur walked out of the place near closing time with a small bag of extras and a new job. The rain had finally let up.

Incredible how fast things could change.

* * *

Three months later and June was cooler than usual. It was a gray, light morning - normally would be the prime time for a rush - but the bakery was closed today. First time since he’d started, frankly, and not a day too soon. Arthur was watching the florist wrap his bouquet when his phone went off. Without even looking at the caller ID, he knew exactly who it must be.

“Yes?”

“Hey, Artie!”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Can I call you Wart like in _Sword in the Stone_ instead?”

“You absolutely may not,” said Arthur dryly, mouthing a thank you to the florist as she passed him the bouquet. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing! I just wanted to call and say hi.”

Arthur rolled his eyes even though Alfred couldn’t see. “You never call for no reason. And it must be four in the morning over there - seriously, what’s the problem? Is Matthew having those night terrors again?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I just wanted to call and say hi because I haven’t for awhile.”

Arthur chided himself. Alfred was only fifteen and that they hadn’t seen each other in person since the period so emotionally fraught that to this day, Alfred and his twin brother only ever referred to it as “The Divorce.” When they’d lived as a family in Cornwall, those boys had hung off Arthur’s every word. Alfred slightly more than the more reserved and restrained Matthew; Alfred had hero-worshipped Arthur, hardly giving him a moment’s peace. When he was younger, it had annoyed Arthur very much but now, as was so often the case with hindsight, he missed the boy. He missed being someone’s brother, missed being made to feel useful, dependable, and admired.

Well, Arthur thought, eying the bouquet as he stepped outside. In some ways, Arthur still had people to admire him. 

He cleared his throat harshly.

“Right,” said Arthur. “It’s still early. Shouldn’t you be in bed? Don’t you have school?”

Alfred scoffed. “Hell nah, bro - school’s been out for like a week. Besides, I can’t sleep because I’m planning out my amazing future as the savior of the NASA space program.”

“Oh, really?” 

Arthur checked his watch. As much as he really did want to hear about Alfred’s ambitions, he knew how the boy could get… well, distracted, by his dreams. He’d been going on about NASA since he was six, and Arthur simply didn’t have time to hear Fifty Amazing Fun Facts That You Didn’t Know About Building Rockets to Mars. 

“Yep! I think I’ve officially decided on MIT for my first degree - no out-of-state tuition and plus, I think it’ll be good for Mom because after Matt went to Canada, she got like, depressed. I am not about to go giving my mother any grief just because I think it would be cool to live in California, ya know?”

“Very considerate of you,” said Arthur, genuinely impressed. “What about your tuition?”

“I’m eligible for like, four different kinds of academic scholarships plus all the financial aid they’ll probably give me! And I’m getting that new job -”

“What new job?” Arthur frowned. “What happened to your first job?”

“Oh, I’m still gonna work at McDonald’s but I got really inspired by your bakery-cafe success story and found one in town! Also there’s this girl -”

Arthur groaned.

“Hey! Even _you_ would think she’s hot!”

“Not the point,” Arthur snapped, clutching his flowers a bit more closely. “Alfred, do not go and work somewhere just for that reason. A second job is stressful even for an adult, but you’re a teenager who is still in school. It’ll be hard for you to keep your grades up with two jobs - and what do you do if that girl gets a different job, mm? Do you just quit?”

“No!” said Alfred cheerfully. “I keep calm and carry on! And besides, she won’t get a new job because she’s the owner’s little sister.”

That was somehow worse. Arthur automatically went to pinch the bridge of his nose and almost dropped his bouquet into the gutter.

“Alfred, I am begging you to please just step back and think about what you’re doing.”

“I did think! I spent like, all night thinking about it. I made a whole spreadsheet.”

“Sleep on it,” Arthur amended. “Do not go and work somewhere just because you think that there’s an attractive staff member that you want to talk to. You hear me? That is a recipe for disaster! It’s highly unlikely to ever work out and if it does -”

Arthur was suddenly glad that there was an ocean between him and Alfred right now. He hadn’t mentioned Francis to his brothers because nothing was official yet. But maybe it would be, after today. And how hypocritical he’d look, lecturing Alfred about pursuing a pretty girl the same way he’d decided to pursue Francis. 

Well, Alfred at least had the excuse of being a teenager.

“Anyways, I’m about to miss my bus!” Arthur said hurriedly. “Are you sure there’s nothing important you wanted to tell me?”

Mercifully, Alfred yawned into the receiver, betraying his own exhaustion. “Nah, that’s about it. When I get this girl’s number, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Tell Matthew and your mother I said hello - and make sure Matthew is taking his medication, alright?”

“Okay, whatever,” said Alfred, yawning again. “Good night, Arthur.”

“Good morning,” Arthur corrected him out of reflex. “But yes, Alfred. Sleep well.”

Arthur sighed as the call ended. He’d gone off again without thinking, lecturing Alfred like that. Eating his words wouldn’t even begin to describe the runner that Alfred would be sure to put him through when all of this Francis business came to light. That boy was a lot smarter and more persistent than most people assumed. Arthur would never hear the end of this one.

Still, Arthur thought. He glanced around to check and make sure that no one was watching before putting his face to the bouquet. The fine, light scent of roses filled his nostrils for a moment, just as the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. Practically poetic, that. He tucked the bouquet under his arm and smiled. Maybe this would all be worth it in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *has not only one, not only two - not three, not four - but FIVE fics in need of update*  
> me: But i love.... the mythology au.......
> 
> So, uh, I was pretty surprised that everyone liked this au so much and you know, I'm a sucker for positive feedback AND have a lot of assignments due, so naturally I procrastinated by writing out a prologue for the mythology au.
> 
> As always, I can't promise that updates will be timely or scheduled in any way but I swear I'm going to try and update some old fics instead of just posting new ones soon lolol. I hope you enjoyed this anyway; let me know what you think and I'll catch you next time!


	2. All in Your Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about music a lot when I wrote this. Autoheart's "The Witching Hour" and Lord Huron's "Frozen Pines" a lot while I wrote this. Maybe that's like an ED and and OP? Basically, all of Lord Huron is good for this fic since the whole discography is "Get Lost in the Woods and Maybe Encounter an Eldritch Horror" crossed with "folksy Americana road trip tunes" and that's my entire aesthetic tbh.

Matthew had his first nightmare when he was four years old. One minute, he had closed his eyes and curled up, ready to sleep. The next thing he knew, his mother was frantically shaking him awake, yelling his name. Matthew’s throat was sore, his face wet with tears as the room came into focus. Alfred was crying on the other bed, with Arthur holding a protective arm around his shoulder. Their step-father was in the doorway, a looming shadow.

Later, he was told that he’d screamed bloody murder for several minutes. But Matthew couldn’t remember anything about his dream. His mother gave him a glass of water and let him have some ice cream before going back to bed.

A month later, it happened again in the same way.

By the time he was seven, he had nightmares every few days. Hearing screams at the witching hour became part of the family's nightly routines. 

His stepfather wouldn’t put Matthew on medication, even though it was clear that something was wrong. He seemed to think that Matthew was doing it for attention. His parents argued back and forth over it, their shouting ringing in his ears well into the night. It was the first of many disagreements which eventually led to the Divorce.

It was among one of the worst periods in the twins’ life. More than once, they slept in the car as their mother drove fruitlessly around Cornwall, looking for cheap accommodations for a week because their step-father had thrown them out of the house. Even Arthur - who, at one point, seemed like the only person that his father even cared about - was cast off when he chose an inopportune moment to come out to the family. It was a downward spiral, culminating in a night where bottles got smashed against the wall and Matthew woke screaming on three separate occasions. Tempers ran high and cash ran thin.

After eight months of veritable emotional torment, the twins and their mother boarded a plane for a one-way trip to Boston.

Alfred cried for hours - not because he wanted to stay in England. He’d hated it.

He cried because Arthur had to stay behind.

Matthew was sad about it, too, but not in the same way. Truthfully, Matthew had always had the suspicion that Alfred loved their older brother more than he loved Matthew. He’d sensed it, even understood it, in the way that one intrinsically understands one’s twin. In that way, it was hard to feel bitterness towards either of them. Matthew thought that if he were in Alfred’s shoes, he wouldn’t choose himself over Arthur either.

Miraculously, once the reality of a fresh start set in, Matthew’s night terrors eased - only to return with a vengeance once he started school. In Boston, they found a doctor who diagnosed anxiety and sleep disorders, and at last, Matthew was permitted to take the medication he’d needed. The first time he slept a full night, Matthew barely realized it. He woke, warm and content, and then bolted upright and called Arthur to report the good news.

The twins called Arthur as often as they were allowed. International plans were expensive, and Arthur was a busy person. To his credit, he always made time for his little step-brothers, even when they were an ocean and several time zones away.

Matthew got accepted to an international school in Canada - an almost ludicrously good opportunity. After meetings with financial aid advisers and his doctor, Matthew packed his bags and left home for the first time. He slept uneasily, but he didn’t wake up screaming - at least, not until May. It terrified his roommate and word soon got around to the school counselors. Matthew was able to assure them that it was a one-time thing, related to the stress of final exams.

A week later, he was home. And two days after, Arthur went missing.

He’d probably been missing for a few days before that. His roommate said that he hadn’t seen Arthur in almost a week, though he’d given no indication of wanting to move out. It was just that until Sean - a distant cousin from Ireland - came into town for business and needed cheap accommodations, no one had bothered to call or look for Arthur. No one had even noticed when the bakery where he’d worked for the last three months closed down. “Health code violation,” most people assumed, and left it at that.

Matthew, Alfred, and their mother flew into distress. Alfred even offered to pull money out of his own savings account for tickets to London, so that they could help in the search. But just as soon as an investigation was called, it was cut short.

“Look,” said the officer over Skype. “This case is really a non-issue, when you think about it. A grown adult is entitled to do what he likes. I’m not about to waste my time tracking down a person who probably doesn’t even want to be found.”

Alfred argued furiously. “But Arthur wouldn’t just disappear like that!”

“He’s done it before.”

Matthew bit his lip, not wanting to acknowledge that the officer had a point. Arthur had fled to London at midnight on his eighteenth birthday, and didn’t even tell anyone what he was planning because he didn’t want to be followed. The difference was that he’d called his former step-mother, telling her not to worry and giving her his new phone number. But he’d done all of that because he’d hated his father, and Arthur didn’t hate Matthew, or Alfred, or their mother. Right?

“He would’ve at least called to say goodbye,” was the only thing Alfred could say. But Arthur was gone and as far as the world was concerned, he was going to stay that way.

It was the worst summer of Matthew’s life.

When he went back to school in September, his night terrors returned. Matthew went to a doctor and got an adjusted prescription, and hoped that would be the end. He knew what was expected of him. His mother had once told him that she believed he'd come into the world two and a half days early because, even as a newborn, he simply hadn't wanted to cause her any extra trouble. Matthew was the good one, gentle and kind and responsible, and nobody ever worried about him. They knew he’d sort himself out as he always did. Alone.

When his mom called, he told her that he was sleeping fine.

That was almost two years ago.

* * *

Natalya Braginsky was gorgeous in the way that Alfred felt should’ve been illegal. She was nearly as tall as he was (something that he liked in girls), graceful as a dancer, and totally uninterested in human interaction as a whole - which altogether meant that she was exactly his type. Not to mention that her sister - Irina, the eldest of her siblings and owner of the Braginskaya Cafe and Tea House - was the sweetest woman alive and always sent Alfred home with piroshki and honey cake after a long Sunday shift. The job was the polar opposite of McDonald’s and all the better for it.

Two things happened that changed the situation.

First: Arthur went missing. It was his first week on the job, when they got the call. When it came to sucking the joy out of a new love affair, nothing was quicker and more brutal than a missing person’s case being dismissed by the police and leaving a gaping hole in your family tree.

Second: As it turned out, Natalya was evil.

Thankfully, she was not the bathed-in-the-blood-of-innocents kind of evil. She was the mildly creepy, household kind of evil. The kind of evil where Alfred was pretty sure that Natalya could read minds, see the future, and would lay a curse on him and his family if he ever got on her bad side. And he’d had enough family trouble for a lifetime, so he wanted to stay on her good side.

Natalya’s brother Ivan, on the other hand - that guy was definitely evil in the way that stank like several dead bodies. He was the tea house’s head baker and cook, but he was built like a brick house and sometimes took extended time off, supposedly to go visit family in Russia. Alfred had a conspiracy theory that involved Ivan working as an enforcer for the mob.

Only a theory, though.

The truth was that the Braginsky siblings had treated Alfred well. Even if Ivan was vaguely menacing at all times and Natalya had a mean streak, when he told them about Arthur’s case, they were nothing if not sympathetic. Irina even chided Alfred for coming in to work a few days after the officers closed the case, saying that he needed more time to rest. The resulting disagreement was the first and only time that Ivan ever stuck his neck out for Alfred.

“He wants to keep himself busy, Iryuna, so let him stay. You shouldn’t tell people how to make themselves feel better.”

But Irina was doggedly persistent and wouldn’t allow Alfred to use work as his outlet for frustrations. She made the work schedules and always “just so happened,” to give Alfred days off when he needed them, sometimes without even having to ask her first. And on the days she slipped up and forgot, she always found an excuse to send him home.

Alfred knew that was what she was planning today. Irina’s big, watery blue eyes followed him around the tea house with hawklike intensity, waiting for him to show signs of fatigue or discontent. Alfred put on his biggest, tip-winning smiles and even flirted a little with the college guy who always came in for coffee after his Saturday workouts. He didn’t even complain when Ivan told him to clean the bathrooms, a disgusting task no matter how fine the establishment was.

Just before the lunch rush hit, Irina forced him to take a fifteen minute break, sending him out into the lobby with a little take-home bag of fresh dumplings. Within seconds of him finding an open seat, Natalya materialized from the kitchen and flopped down across from him.

“Did she put you up to this?” Alfred asked in a flat voice.

“Obviously,” she replied, grabbing the dumplings and popping one into her mouth. “My sister sticks her nose in everyone’s business.”

“Well, tell her I’m not going home,” said Alfred. “Nobody’s even there right now since Matt is spending the summer in Ontario.”

Natalya ate another dumpling and said with her mouth full, “Not even he wants to be around your stupid fakey smiles.”

Alfred didn’t even want to argue. He could lie to Irina and even to Ivan, but not to Natalya. Never to her. She leaned in, scowling hard at him. Meanwhile, a family - a dozen-odd aunts, uncles, and all their kids - made their way through the doors and started articulating their needs to Irina. At last, Alfred and Natalya had been freed from her scrutiny, even if it would only be for a moment.

Both of them looked at each other, silently daring the other to speak first.

“It’s because of him,” said Natalya. Her voice was soft but clear as a bell, even above the din of the other customers. “Isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“Idiot. Your brother, obviously.”

“Which one?” asked Alfred, allowing his bitterness to show for a moment. “I’ve got two.” _Even if the world doesn’t think so anymore._

Natalya sat back and folded her arms. “You pick. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know - as payment for the snack.”

Alfred probably would’ve given her the dumplings if she hadn’t stolen them first, but that was beside the point. She was never nice to him when he seemed upset; a quarter of their relationship was banter and the rest was just senseless bickering. But she seemed perfectly serious in her offer. Maybe it was time to put the evil part of her to good use.

“Fine,” he said. “Matthew.”

“Boring!” Natalya declared. “You should’ve picked the other one if you really wanted to challenge me.”

It took Alfred a moment to process what she’d said.

“Wait, Nat - you actually could -”

“Ask Matthew what he’s lying about,” said Natalya, as if she hadn’t heard him start to protest. “Ask about his friends. You’ll be able to hear it but you’ll know for sure once you see him face to face. It’s obvious.”

“I’m still not following. Are you trying to tell me that you -”

“Natasha, dear!” Irina’s voice called over the din. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

At once, Natalya stood up to obey the order, which was - once again - totally unlike her. Alfred stared, open-mouthed with shock.

“Call him tonight,” she said, over her shoulder as she flounced away. “Ask him about the witching hour.”

A few minutes later, Natalya was taking down the big family’s order and Alfred was bringing dishes to the back to make room in the lobby, like none of it had even happened. Only after the rush was in full swing did Alfred realize that the cryptic, out-of-character behavior might’ve been part of Irina’s plan all along. She pulled him aside and told him that the dishes could wait, here, take some soup and head home to rest.

* * *

When Matthew emerged from the counselor’s office, he found Gilbert waiting for him, slouched against the wall opposite the desk. He wasn’t a student and wasn't allowed on campus at this hour but Gilbert had always been the type of person to shirk the rules. Matthew didn’t know how he’d managed to sneak in. His albinism was eye-catching to say the least - shocks of thick white hair, red-rimmed irises, skin so pale it made his veins prominent, like blue and red spiders on his hands and the other places where his bones pressed them towards the surface. But Matthew was glad to see him all the same. The secretary didn’t appear to be paying him any attention, but Matthew definitely didn’t want to talk about what had just happened with her present. He pressed his lips, shouldered his bag, and beckoned Gilbert out of the room. 

“You look like hell,” Gilbert said. “What’d they say to you in there, huh?”

It was late, and a Saturday, so even the students who’d come for remedial courses or tutoring sessions would be headed back to the dorms. Matthew often felt that the empty halls were too wide - too echoing. There was no telling who would hear him if he spoke now.

“Come on,” Gilbert prodded at him. “Okay, scale of one to ten, how awful was it? One being it was nothing and ten being bad enough that you have to switch schools.”

“Seven,” Matthew mumbled as they reached the exit. “Maybe a solid eight?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That bad?”

“They’re making me use a real therapist,” said Matthew. “And calling my mom.”

Gilbert frowned as they stepped into the red light of the setting sun. It made him seem almost transparent, more ghostly than ever.

“Wait - isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”

Technically yes, it was. Just as Matthew knew his medication was no longer working as it should, he knew - logically - that the next step was to visit a doctor and discuss his options for treatment. But he couldn’t do that in good conscious, knowing that his mother struggled to pay his tuition and feared for his safety when he was far from her sight. And he’d been lying to his family for too long to just stop now. If he had been honest from the start, they wouldn’t have been angry. But now…

“If Alfred finds out that my nightmares came back and I didn’t tell him,” said Matthew quietly, “then he’s going to invent teleportation just so that he can come up here and kick my ass.”

Gilbert grinned halfheartedly. “What else are brothers for, eh?”

“I just didn’t want them to worry. I didn't mean for things to get this bad.” Matthew stifled a yawn behind his hand as they walked. Half the buildings in this quaint, greening neighborhood belonged to the school and the other half belonged to its staff and students. A group of girls rounded the corner, crowding Matthew off the sidewalk while they passed by, laughing on their way to a party.

“Well,” said Gilbert, watching critically as Matthew straightened up and kept walking. “You can’t force people not to care about you, no matter how much you want to be invisible.”

“I don’t want to be invisible.”

“Then don’t make yourself small for people.” Matthew winced. “Want my honest opinion? That’s what makes people worry.”

He was right, and Matthew knew it. He just didn’t care to admit it.

“Don’t you have to be getting home?” asked Matthew tiredly.

Gilbert gave him an exasperated look.

“Sorry. Look, I really appreciate you being there for me and all - but I think I really would like to be alone for a little bit.”

Sometimes the glimmer of honesty was all it took with Gilbert. He sighed.

“One more piece of my amazing, foolproof advice before I go - your brother will probably be angry if he hears this shit from someone else. But if you tell him the truth…”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Gil.”

“Sleep tight, Matt,” he replied. “If you change your mind and wanna talk about anything, you’ll know where to find me.”

Gilbert was a good friend, Matthew thought, watching as he disappeared from view. He was quite possibly the best friend that Matthew had ever had. Which was kind of a shame, all things considered. At the start of school, Matthew had made friends with the drop of a hat. But after they'd learned the sound of his terrified screams, they'd started to avoid him. Only Gilbert stuck around - not that he had much of a choice either, since Matthew knew for a fact that he was Gilbert's only friend. 

It was all just one big mess. 

He went back to his empty dorm and took his medication, more out of habit than anything else. He made pancakes from a box and brewed a cup of tea - earl grey, which was not the best for getting to sleep, but was Arthur's old favorite. He used to make himself a cup every morning and when Matthew had asked why, he'd joked,  _I'm nothing if not quintessentially English,_ and ruffled Matthew's hair. Matthew had never heard the word "quintessential" before, but Arthur patiently explained it to him when he asked. At that age, the twins had both agreed that their elder step-brother was the smartest person on Earth. 

Matthew missed Arthur, more now than ever. It had not escaped his notice that the nightmares returned when he vanished. Matthew knew, objectively, it wasn't his fault that Arthur had left - but he was afraid. He was afraid that Arthur had secretly resented them for leaving like they did. He was afraid that the police were right and Arthur had cut them out of his life and didn't want to be found. Or maybe Arthur was actually dead, and Matthew's mind hadn't accepted it yet. He didn't know which of those scenarios was the worse one. 

Alone in his dorm like this, Matthew felt only his losses and fears. He sank into his pillows, which somehow had become stiff an uncomfortable.The whole space was so very empty, the walls too high and wide. He knew that he was spiraling down and that it wasn't too late to yank himself upright again. He pressed the mug of tea between his palms, feeling the heat start to sting, and tried to think of something productive that he could do, at least until he was forced to try and sleep.

But it seemed that the universe wasn't totally against him today; the sound of his own ringtone was so startling that Matthew nearly dropped his mug. 

He scrambled to set it aside and pick up the phone.

"Al," he said, disbelief coloring his voice. "It's Saturday. What's wrong?"

The twins called each other every week out of habit, usually on Sunday nights before they went back to school. It wasn't unusual for Alfred to call Matthew more than once a week, but lately they'd both been so absorbed in their own lives that even squeezing in Sunday night calls had become a bit of a chore.

"Nothing's wrong, bro," said Alfred, who was obviously lying. Even miles away, Matthew always knew when Alfred was lying. "Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing."

"Uh huh."

"Don't 'uh huh' me," Alfred said, a bit defensive now. "What, is it illegal to call you off-schedule now?"

Matthew sighed. "Of course not."

"So... what's up?" The question was pointed. "Are you feeling alright? Feeling... I don't know, let's say... well rested?"

Matthew sat up on his bed. "How in the hell did you know?"

"Know what?" 

Automatically, he said, "Nothing."

"You mean you're not well rested?" Alfred asked. Matthew cringed, hearing the realization as it washed over his brother in real time. "Why, you're still taking your meds, right? So why wouldn't you be well rested?"

Matthew bit his lip. "Look, Al..."

"Bro, if you tell me that your started having nightmares again, I'm gonna flip my shit."

"I was going to tell you," said Matthew quickly. "Eventually, I mean."

Alfred groaned. "Jesus, Matt!"

"I'm  _sorry,_ okay? I'm sorry. I just - I'm really just  _sorry._ " 

"Does Mom know yet?"

"No, but she'll figure it out when the school calls and tells her everything." Matthew racked a finger back through his hair, biting his lip. "They say they're sending me to a real therapist since the meds aren't working anymore."

" _Christ,_ Matt!"

Matthew sighed and said the only thing that he could think of to explain himself: "I wish Arthur were here."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Matthew went on, explaining, "Arthur always knew what to say with this kind of thing. A lot of stuff has been going on and it all kind of... snowballed. But he would've known what to do."

It was a long moment before Alfred finally answered.

"Why do you talk about him like that?"

"You mean... past tense?"

"He's not gone." Alfred refused to say the word  _"dead"_ in connection with Arthur. He didn't even like to say that Arthur had disappeared. Matthew didn't know exactly how, but his brother stubbornly clung to the belief that all the facts were wrong and Arthur was out there, somewhere, and would come back someday. After two years, his faith had yet to waver, even for a moment.

Matthew, on the other hand, was no longer certain what he believed in.

"I'm sorry," he said, not wanting to argue. "I just really wish he was here now, that's all."

"But - you are still taking your pills, right?"

"I probably shouldn't," said Matthew, sighing again. "Not like they're working."

"Arthur asked me to make sure you were taking them last time he called."

Matthew's heart caved in. The flatness in Alfred's voice was almost as hurtful as the idea that Arthur had been worrying about Matthew before he disappeared. As far as they knew, Alfred's early-morning phone call to Arthur was the last conversation anyone had with him before he vanished. But Alfred hadn't disclosed particulars until now. A fresh wave of guilt washed over Matthew, thinking that maybe he'd disappointed Arthur from... wherever he was. 

"I'm taking them," he said. "Maybe this new therapist will change things, but I swear I'm still trying."

Alfred exhaled, and then said in a soft voice, "I miss him, too."

Despite everything separating them as people, Matthew knew that deep down, he and Alfred were made of the same stuff. Though it manifested differently in the two of them, and came from different reasons, what they felt was essentially the same. "I know."

Alfred took a deep breath in. This time, when he spoke, he sounded normal.

"So, when's your first appointment?"

"Next week, I think. The school gave me a recommendation and the first visit is free, so if I don't like whoever it is, they'll set me up with someone new and I won't be charged."

"That's good, at least. When are you going to tell Mom?"

"Tomorrow," Matthew said, testing the waters. "Since I'm assuming she's out of town this weekend?"

"Yep. Those rich assholes in New Hampshire overworking their horses again."

"Some people have no respect for animals," said Matthew. "But it's New Hampshire, so we can't expect them to know anything about the real world - like their actions having consequences, for example." It was a sad, tired attempt at humor but Alfred seemed to appreciate it.

"Think we could modify the garage into a stable and rescue them?"

"You'd have to get rid of your POS car, so no."

"I'll just take your old room, then. Not like you're using it."

"Hey, I  _might_ use it," said Matthew. "I'm still coming home for my birthday."

"Our birthday."

"Two and a half days apart!"

"We're still twins, jackass! Same fertilized egg - your premature exit from the womb was just a freak accident."

"I still think that you kicked me out."

"Probably because I could sense your future willingness to move to Canada, a completely fake country."

The familiar argument made Matthew smile. It felt like it had been ages since he'd smiled for real. "Oh, like you're some kind of psychic now?"

Alfred laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well, I can confirm that Canada is real," Matthew said, sinking back into his pillows like he belonged there. "You might even like it up here if you came to visit once and awhile."

"Maybe I will just to prove my theory that Canada is fake."

"Whatever, man. I'm hanging up."

"Not if I hang up and end this bullshit conversation first."

"I'm hanging up first," said Matthew, failing to hide the snicker in his voice. "Asshole."

"Sweet dreams - but only if you take your pills and talk to your therapist, dickhead."

"Good _night._ " 

Matthew tossed his phone aside, feeling lighter. Gilbert had been right - Alfred's anger was born from worry, and it wasn't cruel. Matthew had worked himself into a knot over nothing. He should have known that Alfred would support him in the end. He always did. Matthew would have to admit to Gilbert's face that he was wrong and Gilbert was right, but for right now, it was worth it just to joke around with Alfred for a little while.

The mug of tea on his nightstand was cool enough to drink now but Matthew let it sit. Arthur wouldn't want him to dwell in the past anyway.

* * *

 

The nightmares had come back. 

That must've been what she meant. 

_Ask about his friends. Ask about the witching hour._

Alfred frowned and rolled over onto his side. His room was dark as the lingering sunset finally faded into a true night at last. Natalya had to be messing with him again. Matthew's friends were his own business. And what the hell was "witching hour" supposed to mean? Matthew probably wouldn't even know what that meant.

_It's obvious. You'll know when you see his face._

Matthew lied because he was scared of people getting angry at him. He knew how much they worried about his having nightmares. But he wouldn't lie about anything else - not if it was really important. And he especially wouldn't lie to Alfred. Right?

_You should've asked about the other one if you really wanted to challenge me._

Yeah, Alfred thought firmly. Natalya was definitely messing with him. That was her evil streak rearing its ugly head. 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He'd never get to sleep if he went to bed angry.

_Good morning. But yes, Alfred. Sleep well._

It was getting harder and harder to remember what Arthur's voice sounded like. Even though Alfred had to believe that those weren't his last words, it was hard not to remember them. The last words that Arthur had said to his family - to Alfred. 

_Sleep well._

"I'm trying," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear: Alfred and Matthew turned sixteen in the year Arthur disappears. (Did he make his date with Francis? We may never know~) They're currently turning eighteen and about to start their senior years of high school (I'm pretty sure that's how July birthdays work but if not, oh well, we all know that Authors Can't Do Math). 
> 
> Originally, I wanted the Braginskys to occupy a totally different role in the story but it didn't make a lot of sense and would've bogged down the essential plot I wanted to write... but then I came up with a new idea while I was doing some more research on Slavic mythologies and now I think I'm really excited to write more of them!
> 
> Please tell me what you think and as usual, I'll catch you next time!


End file.
